DemonArchangel
03-08-2004, 04:01
This is a part of a bigger novel that i'm working on right now, but enjoy this as an independent short story. Or at least my rough draft.
A D.C Short Story
Part 1:
The youngish-looking male earthling with long pitch-black bangs, dark black eyes, and a malevolent grin, leaned back in his plush and comfortable Italian Leather chair and pulled out a small universal remote control from his pocket. At the press of a button, soft classical music flowed out from the speakers across the large, well lit circular office with white marble walls. He put the remote control into his pocket, smiled and dozed off staring vacantly at the ceiling, and despite the rich trappings of his office, he did not smoke a cigar, as many other occupants of fancy offices tend to do when they wish to relax. Besides, tobacco was bad for the lungs; assassins needed lungpower….
Meanwhile, in another location somewhere on Earth (more specifically, the obscure and unmapped country of Nowhereisstan (shown to be a part of Tajikistan, Afghanistan and China, but really its own country because no one bothered to govern it.) Mostly, the population of Nowherisstan consisted of dirt poor grass farmers, the occasional herder of some sort of mutated yak species that resembled malnourished shag carpets more than they did yaks, and of course, terrorists, fugitives from international (primarily U.S) law, more terrorists, rotten scumbags, more terrorists, and lastly, more terrorists. And in this harsh wasteland in front of a cave/base complex carved into the side of a mountain, landed a heavily armed V-22 Osprey Helicopter and an escort of about 12 Harrier Jump Jet fighters sometime in the early afternoon. The airplanes were parked in line, sitting precariously on a rocky road carved out of the mountains, and rocked back and forth for a few nervous seconds before stopping. The back door of the Osprey opened, and a tall man in a heavy blue-gray greatcoat and a rather old looking top hat that looked like it had been worn daily every day for 60 years stepped out.
Now the man associated with said coat and hat, was a man with a deceptively elderly looking pointed pale face, flyaway gray hair and red eyes that were as mad as a drunken devil’s eyes, anyone in possession of such eyes should be fled from in short order, because such madness can power a fist right through a human sternum….
The Youngish Looking Male Earthling woke up sometime later, music still streaming. For convenience’s sake, the author shall refer to this youngish male earthling as Satanicer, mainly because the tag “Youngish Looking Male Earthling” is more difficult to type than “Satanicer” and because “Satanicer” was the Youngish Looking Male Earthling’s codename, mainly because he worked for the U.S Government, and most if not all U.S Government employees have some sort of codename. An example of this would be George W. Bush, whose real name is Thomas A. Bacon, George W. Bush being a codename. Satanicer got up, stretched his muscles, and resumed the rather demanding activity of being the most intelligent person on the planet Earth, not including the Area 51 aliens. He walked out of his office, with an economy of movement that suggested that he never ever ran when he could walk, and never ever walked when he could stay still. He quietly shut the door behind him, leaving his office empty, the music turned off.
Meanwhile, back in the mountain cave system, the man in the top hat walked spryly towards the mouth of the largest cave. The man went by the name of Sir John Pippingsley, AKA John the Ripper AKA Sideshow Pip. He had the title of Sir, because he was given the title of Knight at the behest British military Special Forces after single-handedly capturing Osama Bin Laden. Unfortunately though, the Americans took credit for the capture and no one outside of the British military was aware that it was HE who captured Osama Bin Laden, not Special Forces Lt. Andrew DeLay (potentially a codename, it’s being researched as to if it is or if it is not a codename.) He had a nickname of “The Ripper” because of his incredible prowess with knives, swords, hat blades, shoe blades, butchery tools, woodcutting tools, power tools such as chainsaws, drills, electric screwdrivers, shards of glass, and/or everything and anything that held some sort of point or edge. And his other nickname was “Sideshow” because people didn’t tend to argue with a well dressed lunatic with red eyes, especially if their nickname was “Sideshow.” Those who did try to argue often found themselves looking for their pulped facial features in the nearest storm drain. By the way, he hated America too, just because they’re easy to hate. The huge blast doors to the cave base open up with an ominous groan and the gate guards walked aside for Sideshow Pip, some of the pilots of Harriers that followed him in.
Satanicer wandered out into the beautiful spring morning, the Sun was shining and people were out walking the streets of the city of Washington D.C. It was too good of a day to really work or do anything major, so Satanicer figured that he should just wander about a bit and soak up some sunshine and relatively fresh air (considering the air pollution in the world today, I’m REALLY stretching the limit of the word “fresh” here.) Satanicer walked over a hot dog vendor and brought himself 2 artery clogging sticks of death slathered with substandard meat tomato and bean paste, known as 2 chili dogs to most standard human beings. He sat down near a park fountain and started to consume the sticks of death slathered with the substandard meat, bean and tomato paste. The gurgling of the fountain’s waters and some other various background noises soothed the raging torrent of disturbed emotions in the recesses of his mind.
Sideshow Pip and Co. walked down into the cave, through several security check chambers and then, towards a well lit room deep underground, rather empty. In the center of the room stood a large purple pillow. Sitting on that large purple pillow was a fat and jolly looking man in a turban and camouflage, sporting a long beard and smoking on a pipe shaped like an RPG-7 rocket launcher. He resembled a horrible parody of an Arabic version of Santa Claus.
“Ah, Supreme High Superior First Godlike Lord and the Hand of Allah, Sheik Ahmed Abdallah.” Said Sideshow Pip in a quick and rapid-fire manner that suggested that he had spoken to him so many times, that saying his long and overly drawn out name was just a normal event. It probably was. Ahmed was the leader of the terrorist organization known as “The Absolutely and Completely Holy Brigade of Yet More Crazed Martyrs, Islamic or Otherwise, That Seem to be Totally Willing to Blow Themselves up in the Name of Whatever God they Worship As Long as We as an Organization Benefit From Said People Blowing Themselves Up.” Though in short, the organization’s name was known merely as HMO (Holy Martyrs & Otherwise). The Supreme High Superior First Godlike Lord, Sheik Ahmed Abdallah was, discounting the brutal murdering, torturing and kidnapping, quite a kind and ebullient man who was easy to get along with. And strangely enough (for mad terrorist lords and Americans anyway), he only kept one wife, and no prostitutes, sex slaves, or concubines. And thus he replied…
“Hello there Sit down Sit down”, the Sheik and Supreme High Commander. Pip sat down on the cold stone floor, his cold, hard facial expression changing not a micron. Pip stared at Ahmed for a second, and Ahmed just smiled back.
If it wasn’t for Ahmed’s gift for making things explode with incredible violence, I would have merely discounted him as a pathetic idiot unworthy of attention thought Pip. But Pip needed Ahmed’s specialist services and specialist services were really hard to come by these days. Pip reached into his greatcoat and came out with a document that looked as it was from an official source somewhere, because it was printed on expensive stationary in official looking language that was difficult to decipher. Such language tended to be respected around the world, mainly in a bewildered and mystical way. People worshipped various Gods (Primarily Gods such as Yahweh and Allah, which against all logic seem to be the most popular (They don’t guarantee a free ride into eternal bliss)) because they didn’t understand their infinite mystery and complexity. Bureaucratese, operated in the same manner.
Ahmed carefully read the document then handed it back to Pip.
“ Just a letter authorizing the transfer of 150 Billion Euros in funds to me for some reason, thanks for the money.” Ahmed was about to put the paper away, when Sideshow Pip raised a single long finger on his right hand that wasn’t the middle one.
“There is a catch you know.” Said Pip carefully.
“What is it?”, replied Abdallah.
“Destroy for me Washington D.C….” was the answer.
READ ON TO PART II TO FIND OUT “WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT” IN THIS STORY
Part 2:
Pip was obviously on the insane side of things of course. But of course, Satanicer, the young, intelligent Earthling, despite his intelligence, did not know what was happening all the way on the other side of the world in a certain mountain cave with an Arabic Santa Claus. Even if he did know, he probably had only the faintest of inklings that something like a terrorist attack of unprecedented carnage was going to happen. Besides, it isn’t healthy to dwell over the existence of Arabic Santa Clauses bearing weapons. Satanicer finished his hotdogs; buns and substandard sauce, chucking the remains into the nearest trashcan and walked back to the office.
After shuffling through some papers, he walked to a nearby garage to his jet black heavily customized Dodge Viper SRT-10 with a 9.0-liter twin turbo V-16 engine, all-wheel drive, retractable hardtop, Kevlar and LEXAN armor plating, hydraulics, 1000 watt sound system, and many, many other customizations that made the vehicle more fun to drive. He carefully checked the car for any bombs, poisonous chemicals or other anomalies that would have made driving less pleasant before hopping in and driving off, spewing large, poisonous clouds of greenhouse gases into the environment.
Satanicer merged onto the Capital Beltway and sped off towards the Route 29 exit, gingerly weaving through the heavy rush hour traffic at the approximate pace of 185 mph. Unlike many other important people in the D.C area, he did not live in Georgetown or Downtown D.C, where the houses were small and overly expensive. He chose to live in an isolated corner of the suburbs of D.C about 45 minutes to the north in a large red brick mansion in a heavily wooded area, just to make it more difficult for the folks at the IRS to drop in unexpectedly, especially when there are anti-personnel mines and bear traps in the woods. Besides, houses should have some sort of adjacent plant life; it made things more interesting.
The garage door opened as smoothly as door greased with salad dressing as he drove in. He hopped out of his car and walked into his house, the garage door closing as smoothly as it opened. Then he walked into his empty mansion, and walked into his kitchen. His girlfriend had left him a note on the kitchen counter that read:
Dear Satanicer
Hey I'm forced to attend some stupid physics convention tonight, which is pretty sh*tty to begin with cuz i know you wanted to watch taht weird movie with me or something.
Love,
Sofia
Satanicer swore under his breath silently. His girlfriend Sofia had to attend something stupid AGAIN. He rolled his eyes, kicked off his shoes and silently walked into his room, where his cat was dozing off on the bed. He turned on the lobotomy tube, commonly known as a television and flipped through the channels for various news broadcasts. He then pulled out his laptop and went directly to a top think-tank that was known in the inner circles of the powers that be to create news events such as terrorist attacks, just so they would have something to analyze. He first went a website that appeared to be the run of the mill pornography website and typed in a specific key combination. Then suddenly the website changed from Adult Materials Content Up Ahead to a professional looking website with the header “Conspiracies R’ Us International”
Because people involved in conspiracies wished to avoid causing World War III, they regularly communicate with each other prevent things like that from happening. For example, if the President of the United States wished to arrange a meeting with the Prime Minister of Britain, he’d post his intentions on his website (or going by the intellectual abilities of the current President, he’d get an assistant to do it for him), then the Prime Minister of Britain would then create an appropriate security situation in Britain. Also other world leaders and political insiders could look at the website to learn about the meeting dates and rework their schedules according to that, so the website was sort of like a fire hydrant for political dogs. Unfortunately, it also meant that terrorist leaders, potential assassins and other unsavory/unbalanced types were likely to find out about the locations and whereabouts of world leaders and pick them off, but usually world leaders were gullible enough in this case to actually TRUST terrorists not the read the contents of the website. Satanicer shrugged and read the news bulletins to learn the news BEFORE it was going to happen. The American President for today was planning to sit around in the White House doing absolutely nothing but clipping his toenails and watching the occasional show about how to go hunting with a 5-gauge ultra-heavy probably designed for use against tanks shotgun.
Then something caught Satanicer’s eye, apparently, the sheik decided to post something revealing Mr. Pippingsley’s rather dubious intentions for causing chaos. The notice went as follows:
ﭖﺁﺠﻺﻙﺿﻂ ﮒﮓﺿﺸﷲ﴾ﱡﻀﯽﺴ ﺚﺽﻝﻀﻙﻖ ﺳﺶﻞﻢﻤﺬﺦﭼﺾﺝﺶ ﺩﺿﺆﻡﻗﻒﺩﮓﺯ
Satanicer translated the little Arabic blurb: “Warning, the one you know as Sideshow Pip is going to launch a terrorist attack on Washington D.C with one of my dirty bombs, which I sadly provided him, if ANYONE can help me stop him, please call me.” Satanicer closed the window, and picked up his phone, dialing the number 1800-411-GOVT, the government’s phone directory.
“Yes, may we help you?” asked the dispatcher on the other side in an overly cheery, desiring too much to be helpful voice.
“Phone Number to Sheik Ahmed’s Cave of Potential Doom please.”
“The number is 4.”
“4?”
“Yes, it’s just 4, there are only 4 phone systems in the entire area, and maybe less than that because yak farmer Ghuzzhariznid is definitely lying about his cell phone.”
“Alright….”, Satanicer rolled his eyes and dialed the number 4. Someone picked up.
“Hello, my dad’s busy desperately trying to phone his buddies right now to see if he can take care of Sideshow Pip.” The voice was either a young male or a young female; he had no clue as to which.
“But he isn’t like that usually, wouldn’t he WANT Washington D.C to get blown up?” Asked Satanicer.
“Well” answered the phone call taker “normally, he would support this whole heartedly, and yes, that creepy British guy tried to pay him, but the thing is that because Sideshow Pip is so deranged, the first thing he’ll do is copy the dirty bomb plans so he can start World War III. Ahmed only wants to commit terrorists acts against the U.S for their actions in Iraq and Israel and other places, not destroy the world.”
“Oh great, we have ourselves a lunatic…. Tell your father I’m willing to help, the prospect of World War III does NOT look good.” Satanicer hung up and logged onto the Homeland Security website and put out a red alert lookout bulletin for Sideshow Pip. While the Homeland Security Department was tracking Sideshow Pip, Satanicer changed into comfortable and light athletic clothes with large numbers of pockets to make strenuous physical activity and carrying random electronic gizmos easier. He then walked into a room filled with various armaments; explosives, electronic devices and other things that could cause destruction as well.
He selected nothing more than a few computer and bomb defusal toolkits and a couple dozen flashbombs and stuffed them into his pockets. Then he walked back into his room to check on Homeland Security’s progress in tracking Sideshow Pip. There were a few maps and messages on his screen, Sideshow had already sailed up the Potomac River in a supertanker loaded with nuclear waste and probably a dozen crudely made thermonuclear devices and he was escorted by a flotilla of cruise missile armed armored barges and an honor guard of Harrier jet fighters and V22 Ospreys. The Supertanker stopped in the D.C riverfront near the Jefferson Memorial… Satanicer bolted out the door as fast as his legs would carry him.
Sideshow Pip stood in the hold of the supertanker at the base of what appeared to be a colossal package of dynamite. The detonator of the dirty bomb was the size of a supercomputer, mainly just to look impressive and make it harder for bomb crews to defuse the weapon. Pip punched in a few timer coordinates, 30 minutes should be just about right for him to get into international waters quickly enough. Then he turned to go onto the ship’s deck, where there was a Harrier jump jet waiting for him, when suddenly, the ceiling above him caved inwards as a Harrier jump jet, stripped of its fuel and ordnance crashed through, followed by Satanicer, who gracefully leapt down from the floor above smiling a mischievous smile.
“Sorry I ruined your getaway vehicle” apologized Satanicer.
Pip was furious; no one could ruin his plans and get away with it, absolutely no one. He drew out a 36 cm Victorinox butcher’s knife and charged at Satanicer. Satanicer just stood stock-still until he got within 10 feet, then crouched low and leapt, hitting Pip in the knees and knocking off him off balance. As the 2 hit the ground, Satanicer immediately rolled to the side and pinned Pip’s wrist to the ground, before he could introduce his knife into his ribs. He then twisted around on the ground, maintaining his hold, and quickly rolled Pip over, so that his knife was facing the ground and his arm was pinned. Of course, he knew that Pip was going draw a second knife, so he twisted to the right and scythed Pip’s arms and legs out from under him, then rolled behind him, and grabbed his arms and sandwiched his head between his legs. But before he could deal the fight-ending blow, Pip curled his body into a “C” and swung his foot down towards Satanicer’s head, a wickedly sharp blade was at the toe of his shoe. Satanicer let go immediately and rolled to the side again as the shoe blade dug into the floor. He then leapt up and slowly began circling Pip.
This time Pip charged and tackled Satanicer to the ground, where they were rolling about, each trying to get into a superior position. Suddenly, the LCD screen in the bomb detonation panel flickered to life, and the face of Sheik Ahmed Abdallah appeared. He said:
“Satanicer, use the forks….” Satanicer barely dodged a knife blade to the head, as he wondered what the Sheik just said.
“Use the force? What are you talking about?” Satanicer dodged another knife stab and gave Pip a vicious head butt, then staggered away.
“THE FORKS THE FORKS, THIS SHIP IS CARRYING A LOAD OF FORKS USE THEM” The Sheik, contrary to his personal nature, was shouting at the top of his lungs. Satanicer dodged another knife swipe and turned around grabbing a large crate full of forks, which he used to good effect by knocking Pip senseless with it. After tying Pip up and removing all the knives he had on him, Satanicer pulled out his cell phone to call a pickup crew when the Sheik’s face in the bomb computer shouted again:
“DEFUSE THE BOMB YOU HAVE 10 SECONDS”
The entire world slowed down for Satanicer as thoughts raced around his mind. HOW? Was the main question, his mind didn’t know what do to do, but something in his bones told him something.
He simply walked over and hit the large OFF button on the bomb and the timer stopped abruptly. He then picked up Pip and dragged him to what passed for justice around these parts. As he got up on deck, he could see a Federal Bomb Squad huddled up praying mostly. The U.S Air Force had repelled the Harriers and sunk the missile barges escorting the supertanker while Satanicer was fighting Pip. The bomb squad, thinking that they couldn’t defuse the nuke and that it was going to explode, said their goodbyes to their families and then curled up on deck, waiting for the moment the world would end in a flash. The bomb squad, figuring that they were dead already got up, dusted himself off and saw Satanicer dragging Pip along and realized that he must have defused the bomb below…
After handing over Pip to the proper authorities and avoiding the hugs and kisses of the bomb squad, Satanicer ducked into an alleyway to answer his ringing cell phone, it was the Sheik.
“You my good man, just saved the world, of course there will be more attacks on America by terrorist forces, but no nut jobs like Pip running around with nuclear weapons anymore, I congratulate you.” Satanicer nodded and said one thing before hanging up, “Learn to write in English.”
Satanicer walked off. He refused to be congratulated or awarded in any way for his feat, ignored the President’s calls and just went on with his life. Sideshow Pip escaped from prison because it wouldn’t be fitting for a super villain to actually STAY in jail now would it? And in a cave in Nowhereisstan, a jolly looking man in military fatigues sitting on a purple pillow scratched the letter “A” on a handheld chalkboard.
THE END
(btw, that jumble of numbers was originally poorly written arabic script)
A D.C Short Story
Part 1:
The youngish-looking male earthling with long pitch-black bangs, dark black eyes, and a malevolent grin, leaned back in his plush and comfortable Italian Leather chair and pulled out a small universal remote control from his pocket. At the press of a button, soft classical music flowed out from the speakers across the large, well lit circular office with white marble walls. He put the remote control into his pocket, smiled and dozed off staring vacantly at the ceiling, and despite the rich trappings of his office, he did not smoke a cigar, as many other occupants of fancy offices tend to do when they wish to relax. Besides, tobacco was bad for the lungs; assassins needed lungpower….
Meanwhile, in another location somewhere on Earth (more specifically, the obscure and unmapped country of Nowhereisstan (shown to be a part of Tajikistan, Afghanistan and China, but really its own country because no one bothered to govern it.) Mostly, the population of Nowherisstan consisted of dirt poor grass farmers, the occasional herder of some sort of mutated yak species that resembled malnourished shag carpets more than they did yaks, and of course, terrorists, fugitives from international (primarily U.S) law, more terrorists, rotten scumbags, more terrorists, and lastly, more terrorists. And in this harsh wasteland in front of a cave/base complex carved into the side of a mountain, landed a heavily armed V-22 Osprey Helicopter and an escort of about 12 Harrier Jump Jet fighters sometime in the early afternoon. The airplanes were parked in line, sitting precariously on a rocky road carved out of the mountains, and rocked back and forth for a few nervous seconds before stopping. The back door of the Osprey opened, and a tall man in a heavy blue-gray greatcoat and a rather old looking top hat that looked like it had been worn daily every day for 60 years stepped out.
Now the man associated with said coat and hat, was a man with a deceptively elderly looking pointed pale face, flyaway gray hair and red eyes that were as mad as a drunken devil’s eyes, anyone in possession of such eyes should be fled from in short order, because such madness can power a fist right through a human sternum….
The Youngish Looking Male Earthling woke up sometime later, music still streaming. For convenience’s sake, the author shall refer to this youngish male earthling as Satanicer, mainly because the tag “Youngish Looking Male Earthling” is more difficult to type than “Satanicer” and because “Satanicer” was the Youngish Looking Male Earthling’s codename, mainly because he worked for the U.S Government, and most if not all U.S Government employees have some sort of codename. An example of this would be George W. Bush, whose real name is Thomas A. Bacon, George W. Bush being a codename. Satanicer got up, stretched his muscles, and resumed the rather demanding activity of being the most intelligent person on the planet Earth, not including the Area 51 aliens. He walked out of his office, with an economy of movement that suggested that he never ever ran when he could walk, and never ever walked when he could stay still. He quietly shut the door behind him, leaving his office empty, the music turned off.
Meanwhile, back in the mountain cave system, the man in the top hat walked spryly towards the mouth of the largest cave. The man went by the name of Sir John Pippingsley, AKA John the Ripper AKA Sideshow Pip. He had the title of Sir, because he was given the title of Knight at the behest British military Special Forces after single-handedly capturing Osama Bin Laden. Unfortunately though, the Americans took credit for the capture and no one outside of the British military was aware that it was HE who captured Osama Bin Laden, not Special Forces Lt. Andrew DeLay (potentially a codename, it’s being researched as to if it is or if it is not a codename.) He had a nickname of “The Ripper” because of his incredible prowess with knives, swords, hat blades, shoe blades, butchery tools, woodcutting tools, power tools such as chainsaws, drills, electric screwdrivers, shards of glass, and/or everything and anything that held some sort of point or edge. And his other nickname was “Sideshow” because people didn’t tend to argue with a well dressed lunatic with red eyes, especially if their nickname was “Sideshow.” Those who did try to argue often found themselves looking for their pulped facial features in the nearest storm drain. By the way, he hated America too, just because they’re easy to hate. The huge blast doors to the cave base open up with an ominous groan and the gate guards walked aside for Sideshow Pip, some of the pilots of Harriers that followed him in.
Satanicer wandered out into the beautiful spring morning, the Sun was shining and people were out walking the streets of the city of Washington D.C. It was too good of a day to really work or do anything major, so Satanicer figured that he should just wander about a bit and soak up some sunshine and relatively fresh air (considering the air pollution in the world today, I’m REALLY stretching the limit of the word “fresh” here.) Satanicer walked over a hot dog vendor and brought himself 2 artery clogging sticks of death slathered with substandard meat tomato and bean paste, known as 2 chili dogs to most standard human beings. He sat down near a park fountain and started to consume the sticks of death slathered with the substandard meat, bean and tomato paste. The gurgling of the fountain’s waters and some other various background noises soothed the raging torrent of disturbed emotions in the recesses of his mind.
Sideshow Pip and Co. walked down into the cave, through several security check chambers and then, towards a well lit room deep underground, rather empty. In the center of the room stood a large purple pillow. Sitting on that large purple pillow was a fat and jolly looking man in a turban and camouflage, sporting a long beard and smoking on a pipe shaped like an RPG-7 rocket launcher. He resembled a horrible parody of an Arabic version of Santa Claus.
“Ah, Supreme High Superior First Godlike Lord and the Hand of Allah, Sheik Ahmed Abdallah.” Said Sideshow Pip in a quick and rapid-fire manner that suggested that he had spoken to him so many times, that saying his long and overly drawn out name was just a normal event. It probably was. Ahmed was the leader of the terrorist organization known as “The Absolutely and Completely Holy Brigade of Yet More Crazed Martyrs, Islamic or Otherwise, That Seem to be Totally Willing to Blow Themselves up in the Name of Whatever God they Worship As Long as We as an Organization Benefit From Said People Blowing Themselves Up.” Though in short, the organization’s name was known merely as HMO (Holy Martyrs & Otherwise). The Supreme High Superior First Godlike Lord, Sheik Ahmed Abdallah was, discounting the brutal murdering, torturing and kidnapping, quite a kind and ebullient man who was easy to get along with. And strangely enough (for mad terrorist lords and Americans anyway), he only kept one wife, and no prostitutes, sex slaves, or concubines. And thus he replied…
“Hello there Sit down Sit down”, the Sheik and Supreme High Commander. Pip sat down on the cold stone floor, his cold, hard facial expression changing not a micron. Pip stared at Ahmed for a second, and Ahmed just smiled back.
If it wasn’t for Ahmed’s gift for making things explode with incredible violence, I would have merely discounted him as a pathetic idiot unworthy of attention thought Pip. But Pip needed Ahmed’s specialist services and specialist services were really hard to come by these days. Pip reached into his greatcoat and came out with a document that looked as it was from an official source somewhere, because it was printed on expensive stationary in official looking language that was difficult to decipher. Such language tended to be respected around the world, mainly in a bewildered and mystical way. People worshipped various Gods (Primarily Gods such as Yahweh and Allah, which against all logic seem to be the most popular (They don’t guarantee a free ride into eternal bliss)) because they didn’t understand their infinite mystery and complexity. Bureaucratese, operated in the same manner.
Ahmed carefully read the document then handed it back to Pip.
“ Just a letter authorizing the transfer of 150 Billion Euros in funds to me for some reason, thanks for the money.” Ahmed was about to put the paper away, when Sideshow Pip raised a single long finger on his right hand that wasn’t the middle one.
“There is a catch you know.” Said Pip carefully.
“What is it?”, replied Abdallah.
“Destroy for me Washington D.C….” was the answer.
READ ON TO PART II TO FIND OUT “WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT” IN THIS STORY
Part 2:
Pip was obviously on the insane side of things of course. But of course, Satanicer, the young, intelligent Earthling, despite his intelligence, did not know what was happening all the way on the other side of the world in a certain mountain cave with an Arabic Santa Claus. Even if he did know, he probably had only the faintest of inklings that something like a terrorist attack of unprecedented carnage was going to happen. Besides, it isn’t healthy to dwell over the existence of Arabic Santa Clauses bearing weapons. Satanicer finished his hotdogs; buns and substandard sauce, chucking the remains into the nearest trashcan and walked back to the office.
After shuffling through some papers, he walked to a nearby garage to his jet black heavily customized Dodge Viper SRT-10 with a 9.0-liter twin turbo V-16 engine, all-wheel drive, retractable hardtop, Kevlar and LEXAN armor plating, hydraulics, 1000 watt sound system, and many, many other customizations that made the vehicle more fun to drive. He carefully checked the car for any bombs, poisonous chemicals or other anomalies that would have made driving less pleasant before hopping in and driving off, spewing large, poisonous clouds of greenhouse gases into the environment.
Satanicer merged onto the Capital Beltway and sped off towards the Route 29 exit, gingerly weaving through the heavy rush hour traffic at the approximate pace of 185 mph. Unlike many other important people in the D.C area, he did not live in Georgetown or Downtown D.C, where the houses were small and overly expensive. He chose to live in an isolated corner of the suburbs of D.C about 45 minutes to the north in a large red brick mansion in a heavily wooded area, just to make it more difficult for the folks at the IRS to drop in unexpectedly, especially when there are anti-personnel mines and bear traps in the woods. Besides, houses should have some sort of adjacent plant life; it made things more interesting.
The garage door opened as smoothly as door greased with salad dressing as he drove in. He hopped out of his car and walked into his house, the garage door closing as smoothly as it opened. Then he walked into his empty mansion, and walked into his kitchen. His girlfriend had left him a note on the kitchen counter that read:
Dear Satanicer
Hey I'm forced to attend some stupid physics convention tonight, which is pretty sh*tty to begin with cuz i know you wanted to watch taht weird movie with me or something.
Love,
Sofia
Satanicer swore under his breath silently. His girlfriend Sofia had to attend something stupid AGAIN. He rolled his eyes, kicked off his shoes and silently walked into his room, where his cat was dozing off on the bed. He turned on the lobotomy tube, commonly known as a television and flipped through the channels for various news broadcasts. He then pulled out his laptop and went directly to a top think-tank that was known in the inner circles of the powers that be to create news events such as terrorist attacks, just so they would have something to analyze. He first went a website that appeared to be the run of the mill pornography website and typed in a specific key combination. Then suddenly the website changed from Adult Materials Content Up Ahead to a professional looking website with the header “Conspiracies R’ Us International”
Because people involved in conspiracies wished to avoid causing World War III, they regularly communicate with each other prevent things like that from happening. For example, if the President of the United States wished to arrange a meeting with the Prime Minister of Britain, he’d post his intentions on his website (or going by the intellectual abilities of the current President, he’d get an assistant to do it for him), then the Prime Minister of Britain would then create an appropriate security situation in Britain. Also other world leaders and political insiders could look at the website to learn about the meeting dates and rework their schedules according to that, so the website was sort of like a fire hydrant for political dogs. Unfortunately, it also meant that terrorist leaders, potential assassins and other unsavory/unbalanced types were likely to find out about the locations and whereabouts of world leaders and pick them off, but usually world leaders were gullible enough in this case to actually TRUST terrorists not the read the contents of the website. Satanicer shrugged and read the news bulletins to learn the news BEFORE it was going to happen. The American President for today was planning to sit around in the White House doing absolutely nothing but clipping his toenails and watching the occasional show about how to go hunting with a 5-gauge ultra-heavy probably designed for use against tanks shotgun.
Then something caught Satanicer’s eye, apparently, the sheik decided to post something revealing Mr. Pippingsley’s rather dubious intentions for causing chaos. The notice went as follows:
ﭖﺁﺠﻺﻙﺿﻂ ﮒﮓﺿﺸﷲ﴾ﱡﻀﯽﺴ ﺚﺽﻝﻀﻙﻖ ﺳﺶﻞﻢﻤﺬﺦﭼﺾﺝﺶ ﺩﺿﺆﻡﻗﻒﺩﮓﺯ
Satanicer translated the little Arabic blurb: “Warning, the one you know as Sideshow Pip is going to launch a terrorist attack on Washington D.C with one of my dirty bombs, which I sadly provided him, if ANYONE can help me stop him, please call me.” Satanicer closed the window, and picked up his phone, dialing the number 1800-411-GOVT, the government’s phone directory.
“Yes, may we help you?” asked the dispatcher on the other side in an overly cheery, desiring too much to be helpful voice.
“Phone Number to Sheik Ahmed’s Cave of Potential Doom please.”
“The number is 4.”
“4?”
“Yes, it’s just 4, there are only 4 phone systems in the entire area, and maybe less than that because yak farmer Ghuzzhariznid is definitely lying about his cell phone.”
“Alright….”, Satanicer rolled his eyes and dialed the number 4. Someone picked up.
“Hello, my dad’s busy desperately trying to phone his buddies right now to see if he can take care of Sideshow Pip.” The voice was either a young male or a young female; he had no clue as to which.
“But he isn’t like that usually, wouldn’t he WANT Washington D.C to get blown up?” Asked Satanicer.
“Well” answered the phone call taker “normally, he would support this whole heartedly, and yes, that creepy British guy tried to pay him, but the thing is that because Sideshow Pip is so deranged, the first thing he’ll do is copy the dirty bomb plans so he can start World War III. Ahmed only wants to commit terrorists acts against the U.S for their actions in Iraq and Israel and other places, not destroy the world.”
“Oh great, we have ourselves a lunatic…. Tell your father I’m willing to help, the prospect of World War III does NOT look good.” Satanicer hung up and logged onto the Homeland Security website and put out a red alert lookout bulletin for Sideshow Pip. While the Homeland Security Department was tracking Sideshow Pip, Satanicer changed into comfortable and light athletic clothes with large numbers of pockets to make strenuous physical activity and carrying random electronic gizmos easier. He then walked into a room filled with various armaments; explosives, electronic devices and other things that could cause destruction as well.
He selected nothing more than a few computer and bomb defusal toolkits and a couple dozen flashbombs and stuffed them into his pockets. Then he walked back into his room to check on Homeland Security’s progress in tracking Sideshow Pip. There were a few maps and messages on his screen, Sideshow had already sailed up the Potomac River in a supertanker loaded with nuclear waste and probably a dozen crudely made thermonuclear devices and he was escorted by a flotilla of cruise missile armed armored barges and an honor guard of Harrier jet fighters and V22 Ospreys. The Supertanker stopped in the D.C riverfront near the Jefferson Memorial… Satanicer bolted out the door as fast as his legs would carry him.
Sideshow Pip stood in the hold of the supertanker at the base of what appeared to be a colossal package of dynamite. The detonator of the dirty bomb was the size of a supercomputer, mainly just to look impressive and make it harder for bomb crews to defuse the weapon. Pip punched in a few timer coordinates, 30 minutes should be just about right for him to get into international waters quickly enough. Then he turned to go onto the ship’s deck, where there was a Harrier jump jet waiting for him, when suddenly, the ceiling above him caved inwards as a Harrier jump jet, stripped of its fuel and ordnance crashed through, followed by Satanicer, who gracefully leapt down from the floor above smiling a mischievous smile.
“Sorry I ruined your getaway vehicle” apologized Satanicer.
Pip was furious; no one could ruin his plans and get away with it, absolutely no one. He drew out a 36 cm Victorinox butcher’s knife and charged at Satanicer. Satanicer just stood stock-still until he got within 10 feet, then crouched low and leapt, hitting Pip in the knees and knocking off him off balance. As the 2 hit the ground, Satanicer immediately rolled to the side and pinned Pip’s wrist to the ground, before he could introduce his knife into his ribs. He then twisted around on the ground, maintaining his hold, and quickly rolled Pip over, so that his knife was facing the ground and his arm was pinned. Of course, he knew that Pip was going draw a second knife, so he twisted to the right and scythed Pip’s arms and legs out from under him, then rolled behind him, and grabbed his arms and sandwiched his head between his legs. But before he could deal the fight-ending blow, Pip curled his body into a “C” and swung his foot down towards Satanicer’s head, a wickedly sharp blade was at the toe of his shoe. Satanicer let go immediately and rolled to the side again as the shoe blade dug into the floor. He then leapt up and slowly began circling Pip.
This time Pip charged and tackled Satanicer to the ground, where they were rolling about, each trying to get into a superior position. Suddenly, the LCD screen in the bomb detonation panel flickered to life, and the face of Sheik Ahmed Abdallah appeared. He said:
“Satanicer, use the forks….” Satanicer barely dodged a knife blade to the head, as he wondered what the Sheik just said.
“Use the force? What are you talking about?” Satanicer dodged another knife stab and gave Pip a vicious head butt, then staggered away.
“THE FORKS THE FORKS, THIS SHIP IS CARRYING A LOAD OF FORKS USE THEM” The Sheik, contrary to his personal nature, was shouting at the top of his lungs. Satanicer dodged another knife swipe and turned around grabbing a large crate full of forks, which he used to good effect by knocking Pip senseless with it. After tying Pip up and removing all the knives he had on him, Satanicer pulled out his cell phone to call a pickup crew when the Sheik’s face in the bomb computer shouted again:
“DEFUSE THE BOMB YOU HAVE 10 SECONDS”
The entire world slowed down for Satanicer as thoughts raced around his mind. HOW? Was the main question, his mind didn’t know what do to do, but something in his bones told him something.
He simply walked over and hit the large OFF button on the bomb and the timer stopped abruptly. He then picked up Pip and dragged him to what passed for justice around these parts. As he got up on deck, he could see a Federal Bomb Squad huddled up praying mostly. The U.S Air Force had repelled the Harriers and sunk the missile barges escorting the supertanker while Satanicer was fighting Pip. The bomb squad, thinking that they couldn’t defuse the nuke and that it was going to explode, said their goodbyes to their families and then curled up on deck, waiting for the moment the world would end in a flash. The bomb squad, figuring that they were dead already got up, dusted himself off and saw Satanicer dragging Pip along and realized that he must have defused the bomb below…
After handing over Pip to the proper authorities and avoiding the hugs and kisses of the bomb squad, Satanicer ducked into an alleyway to answer his ringing cell phone, it was the Sheik.
“You my good man, just saved the world, of course there will be more attacks on America by terrorist forces, but no nut jobs like Pip running around with nuclear weapons anymore, I congratulate you.” Satanicer nodded and said one thing before hanging up, “Learn to write in English.”
Satanicer walked off. He refused to be congratulated or awarded in any way for his feat, ignored the President’s calls and just went on with his life. Sideshow Pip escaped from prison because it wouldn’t be fitting for a super villain to actually STAY in jail now would it? And in a cave in Nowhereisstan, a jolly looking man in military fatigues sitting on a purple pillow scratched the letter “A” on a handheld chalkboard.
THE END
(btw, that jumble of numbers was originally poorly written arabic script)